


Losing for the Win

by on_the_wing



Category: Pocket Monsters: Gold & Silver & Crystal | Pokemon Gold Silver Crystal Versions, Pocket Monsters: HeartGold & SoulSilver | Pokemon HeartGold & SoulSilver Versions
Genre: Bottom Gold, I hope they don't get ticks from lying out on the grass like that, M/M, Outdoor Sex, PWP, Verbal Humiliation, top Silver, wow gold you are kind of manipulative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 23:10:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11793399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/on_the_wing/pseuds/on_the_wing
Summary: Gold knew he shouldn’t think of Silver as something to be trained, but the habit was so strong…





	Losing for the Win

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily influenced by prismatic-cannon’s art & headcanons on tumblr, although there are some differences.

Cool fingers held Gold’s face in a light, firm grip, keeping the back of his head pressed down against the grass. Above him, Silver’s face eclipsed the sun, a brilliant corona tracing the edges of his fiery hair. Gold sometimes joked to himself that looking too long at Silver was like staring into the sun—not because he was hot _although he was_ , but because if he caught you, you got _burned_.  
  
But right now was okay. He was supposed to look, because that showed he was paying attention. Silver usually needed some attention after they met new people. Gold wasn’t sure if Silver was afraid they didn’t like him, or if he was afraid that Gold would like them better, or maybe if it was just that he felt unsure about about how to talk to people and wanted reassurance that Gold would still love him even if he made mistakes.  
  
Or maybe he was comparing himself to Gold again, thinking about how this was just one more thing Gold was better at, one more way he was losing to Gold, and he didn’t even have the luxury of hating him because they weren’t dumb kids battling anymore, they were adults in a relationship. It was silly and a little sad, because Silver was actually quite good at talking to people—at least he was now that he’d learned to banter instead of bluster—but Gold could tell he thought he wasn’t.  
  
He didn’t want Silver to feel bad, but he did like times like right now, he liked it when Silver not only _let_ him look, but _made_ him.  
  
The hand on the left shifted inward, and one finger stroked Gold’s cheek near his mouth. His lips parted automatically and he forgot about looking, because now it was time to feel.  
  
His eyes drifted shut, and the finger moved slowly inward to trail over the corner. His breath came out in a sharp quiet huff, then another, and another. His eyes opened again, but he let them stay unfocused so Silver and the world would dissolve together into luscious smears of color and light, letting him concentrate on touch alone.  
  
He could almost feel the fine smooth loops of Silver’s fingerprints, making their invisible but blazing mark on him. What would it look like if you could see a map on his skin of all the places Silver’s hands had touched? They’d glow orange-red, like magma, handprints overlapping, smeared tracks of lava up and down his arms and legs and flanks, pooling on his back and rump and throat and…somewhere else. There wouldn’t be much pristine skin left. Even insi—oh gods. Before he could think, Gold threw the weight of his head against the confining hands, winning just a fraction of a twist, enough to slip Silver’s fingertip into his mouth and flick the tip of his tongue against it.  
  
Silver hissed and whipped the hand away, and a light crisp slap stung Gold’s cheek. A low helpless noise escaped him, and his hips jerked.    
  
His former rival sat back, grinding his pelvic bones into Gold’s aching loins. “Look at you. No self-control. Just an animal.” He leaned forward and stroked Gold’s cheek again. “A weak animal on your back. You’re not even strong enough to be a Pokémon.”  
  
“Mmmh.” Gold blinked slowly, and Silver’s face swam into focus above him, remote and cold and sculpted as Mt. Coronet.  
  
“Your attempts at struggling are pitiful. You’re so weak, you can’t even try to resist me. Can you?”  
  
“No,” Gold whispered.  
  
“That’s right. At least you know it.”  
  
His hands, weak as they were, floated up to curl around Silver’s hips.  
  
Silver pretended not to notice for a moment, then leaned in closer. “Did I say you could touch me?”  
  
“We’re already touching,” Gold felt compelled to point out.  
  
“Take your filthy paws off me, or you will lose them.”  
  
“They’re not fil—okay.”  
  
Silver sighed. “Put them behind your head. You obviously can’t be trusted to keep them still unless they’re pinned down by something.”  
  
Gold inhaled sharply, then struggled to obey.  
  
Silver released his face for a moment, but then his hands closed implacably around Gold’s jaws again, pressing him down into the earth. He leaned down closer, much closer, so close that his body pressed against Gold’s chest and his breath washed over Gold’s open, wanting mouth. His hair fell in coppery, sun-soaked curtains, trapping his captive in the intimacy of his shadow. Gold wanted to toss his head back and forth so he could feel that hair brushing over his face, and also so he could shake lose that one little strand that had somehow managed to curl itself around so that it tickled the inside of his nose. But he couldn’t move.  
  
Silver’s lips dipped down to touch his, so lightly that the contact was an electric jolt, unpleasant and thrilling all at once. “Why is your nose twitching?”  
  
“Sorry, um. Hair.”  
  
“Is there hair growing in your nose?” He failed to force back a smile.  
  
“No, it’s, uh. Yours.”  
  
“Ugh!” He swatted it away. “Better?”  
  
Gold swallowed, trying to be stoic. The curtain fell slowly toward him again…and his nose convulsed uncontrollably.  
  
“I’m not scratching it for you! Fine, do it yourself.” Silver sat back up.  
  
Gold extracted one hand from behind his head and frantically rubbed the underside of his nose. Of course the entire thing suddenly started to itch, and then his eyebrows, and then his forehead, and then several parts of his scalp.  
  
Silver folded his arms and shook his head. “Do you have fleas? Should I give you a bath?”  
  
Gold paused hopefully. “It couldn’t hurt, right?”  
  
“Tch.”  
  
“I am lying on the ground, after all. I’m probably getting really dirty.”  
  
“Your _mind_ is what’s dirty.” Silver shook his hair back and tucked the front bits behind his ears, then leaned down. They promptly fell forward again, and he snarled.  
  
“You could tie it back?”  
  
“I don’t have a hair tie with me, genius. Should I make one out of your hide?”  
  
“That might take a while. Also I might yell and squirm and it would be distracting.”  
  
Silver considered, then admitted, “True. You’ll just have to train yourself to endure it. _Trainer._ ” He leaned forward and swept his hair across Gold’s face. “Endure that, you pathetic wretch.”  
  
Gold sighed happily. _Isn’t it funny_ , he thought, _how it’s called a sigh if it’s from contentment and it’s_ still _called a sigh if it’s from frustration. Or um, other things. I guess it’s a description of the noise, but it seems like it should be called something that shows what you mean by it. Since it’s a method of communication, unless you’re just breathing extra, that is._ Silver’s hands were caressing his face again, and he noticed that he was in fact breathing a bit extra.  
  
“What are you thinking about?” Silver frowned.  
  
“You,” he lied promptly.  
  
“Dumbass,” Silver muttered, swatting his cheek.  
  
Gold smiled. “Mmmmh.”  
  
“Dumbass pervert.”  
  
“Hey, I’m just a helpless victim of your terrible cruelty.”  
  
“I am not cruel. I just have _standards._ And _discipline._ ”  
  
“I’m a helpless victim of your disciplined…standards. Or standardized discipline?”  
  
“Shut up.” Silver swatted him again.  
  
Gold let out a thoughtless chuckle, but at Silver’s expression he swallowed, parted his lips, and looked up at his captor meltingly, or at least in a way that he hoped was melting.  
  
Silver’s eyes narrowed, and he stooped like a Staraptor. He was suddenly everywhere, overwhelming, devouring, invading, rough mouth covering and parting Gold’s, teeth nipping his lower lip, thighs clamping tightly around him. Gold’s heels scrabbled in the dirt and kicked up little clods of grass. He was prey, helpless, struggling, desperate. He needed to move, to breathe, to get out of his clothes. He was fighting just as desperately to keep his hands behind his head, because part of him was screaming that he didn’t have to be prey, he was stronger, he could grab Silver and tip him over and pin him down instead.  
  
The kisses slowed, became maddeningly deliberate and gentle. Whenever he tried to speed up, Silver pulled his lips away, so after a while Gold relaxed and let him do what he wanted. It was a soft, pleasant feeling, letting go; his body was still flooded with heat, but he didn’t have to do anything about it. It was all in Silver’s hands, and that left Gold free to feel, and think, and dream. He hoped Silver would pull his shirt up soon, both of their shirts, so he could look at him and think about how amazing it was that he got to look at Silver without a shirt.  
  
He licked Silver’s lower lip and moaned, thinking of Silver naked, riding him, the heels of his hands digging into Gold’s chest, his beautiful sharp face tight with the effort of staying quiet. Sil didn’t like to make noise, although he liked it when Gold did. He seemed to think making noise was a sign that you gave in, that the other person won. Gold didn’t understand why he would think that. Sex wasn’t a competition, they were just having fun and showing affection—but maybe for Silver it was. Maybe that’s why he liked telling Gold what to do, making him beg and crawl, telling him he was weak, testing him to prove his weakness.  
  
Gold didn’t mind. At all. It was a game, and it made Silver feel good, and it…made _him_ feel good too, in a squirmy, embarrassed way. He wasn’t sure why he was embarrassed, or even why he liked it so much, although he had a strange feeling that part of what he liked was the embarrassment itself. He also enjoyed seeing the cruel, sardonically pleased look on Silver’s face, the easy, fluid lines his body settled into. You could tell Silver liked this role; he could get playful and ironic, even make fun of himself a little.  
  
But he had to admit it was more than that. Gold liked it when Silver was relaxed and in control of them both, but he liked it even better when Sil got a little angry, or more than a little. He glowed then, became a fiery arrow focused on his target, a fierce and implacable avenger who set the air crackling with danger. Gold knew by this time what would set Silver off, and he sometimes acted a little more ignorant than he really was, a little more stubborn, a little more overconfident.  
  
But best of all were those rare times when when Silver finally couldn’t keep himself quiet, when his whole body jerked and shuddered, turning into an electrified beast beyond his control; or when he stopped caring about being quiet, biting Gold and clutching him so hard it hurt, when his cries cut the air like slaps, rattling Gold’s teeth in his head. Afterward he would curl around Gold and fit himself into all his hollows, occasionally pressing a soft kiss to his neck, and if Gold spoke to him his voice was low and mild when he answered.  
  
Gold knew he shouldn’t think about Silver as something to be trained, but the habit was so strong and the parallels so clear. He had skills that needed to be honed and encouraged, weak points that needed reinforcing, latent abilities that needed to be uncovered. He needed practice and nourishment and exercise and rest and encouragement, all in the right balance. He needed to feel good about himself and develop a strong bond with his tra—with Gold.  
  
Gold instinctively wanted to gentle Silver into a smoother bond, where working together felt natural and harmonious. But he also liked the sparks that struck when they clashed. It made his behavior inconsistent, and possibly, he reflected, a little frustrating.  
  
Silver pulled back from the kiss, spurring a pleading whimper from Gold, and sat up again, looking satisfied. His fingers traveled up the underside of Gold’s arm, squeezing his bicep. “All that muscle, and you’re still so weak. Pathetic.”  
  
“Please.”  
  
“Say you’re pathetic.”  
  
“I’m pathetic.”  
  
Silver frowned, and Gold knew he had said it too easily, too calmly. He didn’t seem embarrassed. It was hard to, though, because he wasn’t; it was too silly. He knew he wasn’t pathetic. It was different than begging. He liked saying _please_ , liked it in a way that was almost indecent. It was more embarrassing to say _please_ , because it meant you wanted something really badly and couldn’t get it for yourself; you had to show how desperate and vulnerable you were and ask someone else’s help.  
  
Maybe Silver knew he liked being a little embarrassed, and thought that making him say bad things about himself would make him even more embarrassed, which would be even more exciting? He knew that even if he didn’t want to admit it, Silver wanted to please him and impress him and make him happy. If he showed that he liked something, Silver did it more. He loved pretending to torture Gold, but if he acted really uncomfortable, Silver changed what he was doing or how he was doing it.  
  
Maybe Silver wanted to make him stronger, to test and forge him the way he did his Pokémon. His life had been harder than Gold’s, and he was tougher and wiser in many ways, even though he was less self-assured. Maybe he realized that Gold was overconfident and needed to be tougher, just as Gold had at one point suddenly realized that Silver needed more confidence.  
  
Winning made you more confident, but losing made you more resilient and resourceful, as long as you didn’t give up.  Maybe Silver thought that Gold had done too much winning, and that losing was an essential part of training he’d missed? A person who wins every battle will have no incentive to learn new skills and strategies. Of course he didn’t always win, but even when he lost he had always been able to come back later and do better. Maybe Silver thought he needed to lose more, and for a longer period of time, so he’d get a lot stronger.  
  
But how was calling yourself pathetic really losing? It’s not like you made mistakes and could then look back at them and learn from them. It’s not like you went up against a more powerful adversary and were forced to come up with new strategies to defeat it. Maybe there was just something about the actual feeling of losing, of being the loser, being _a_ loser, that taught you something? Maybe it was compassion. Or humility. Maybe it helped you keep things in proportion, showed you that you didn’t have to be afraid of losing, so that you’d try to win for positive reasons instead of out of fear.  
  
He wished he could just ask Silver about these things, but he knew that drawing attention to how much Silver had lost wouldn’t make him feel very confident, and even if Silver answered him directly and clearly (which he rarely did), you don’t learn as well from being told something as you do from experiencing it for yourself. Maybe, he thought suddenly, maybe Silver was trying to show him how he felt. _Oh Sil no. I hope not._ But maybe that’s what it was.  
  
“Hey.” Another light swat brought him back to the present. Gold had been idly tracing the contours of Silver’s mouth and chin with his eyes, and now he looked up to meet what was trying very hard to be a fierce, stern gaze. “What’s wrong with you?”  
  
Gold couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “I’m suffering from a special form of malnutrition.”  
  
“Oh? Is that so?”  
  
“My body does a kind of um, photosynthesis thing, but with skin to skin contact instead of sunlight. If I don’t get enough of that I get weak and…pathetic, and my attention span is just awful.”  
  
“Hmmph.” Silver pushed Gold’s shirt up to his armpits— _yes!_ —and ran his hands up and down his chest and midriff. “You were already pathetic. Don’t make excuses.”  
  
Gold let out a happy sigh. “Okay.” He eyed Silver’s torso.  
  
“You know if I take my clothes off now I’ll get a sunburn.”  
  
“Oh!”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Is that why you grow your hair so long? So your neck and ears don’t get sunburned?”  
  
Silver paused, frowning. “Well, no.”  
  
“Sorry, was I prying?”  
  
“Yes. But I just like it that way. You don’t?” He reached up half-unconsciously to touch it.  
  
_“No!_ I mean, yes, I love it! It’s beautiful! _So_ beautiful. I can’t even imagine what you’d look like without it. I mean, I’m sure you’d still look amazing, you’d look great no matter what length your hair is….”  
  
Silver twirled a strand around his finger. He let Gold babble for another sentence or two, then fixed him with a stare so raw and dangerous that he fell silent, mesmerized. It was only when he felt the sharp bite of nails in his chest that Gold realized he’d been holding his breath. He pulled in air as if he were hauling a boat in to shore, and deliberately dragged his hands out from under his head, hearing a creak from one shoulder. Without breaking their gaze, he covered Silver’s hands with his own, stroking them.  
  
Silver drew in a slow hissing breath, and Gold froze. The nails dug into his chest once more, sending flares of cruel pleasure toward his groin, and then Silver was lifting Gold’s hand to his mouth, very lightly kissing each knuckle, still holding him captive with his eyes. He pressed soft, heavy, merciless kisses up to the end of each finger, swirling the tip of his tongue against each one. Gold whimpered and squirmed, his movements unconsciously turning more rhythmic, and then it wasn’t even unconscious; he was shamelessly grinding up against Silver, hoping against hope that Sil would allow him a little more time, just a little more, before he stopped him.  
  
Silver must have been feeling generous, or maybe he just liked the look and feel of Gold’s desperation. He set his teeth very lightly in the pad of Gold’s finger and drew them along his skin, and Gold’s hips jerked. “Nnnh!”  
  
“Disgusting,” said Silver, one corner of his mouth turning up. His voice was smooth and rich as sour cream. “No self-control. Just rubbing up against me like some kind of animal, making those noises. You can’t even say your own name like a Pokémon.”  
  
“Yes I—”  
  
“Can you?” There was suddenly a finger probing Gold’s lips open; without thinking he licked it so it wouldn’t stick to his skin, then sucked it into his mouth, running the rough side of his tongue along the underside. Silver inhaled, then recovered. “I didn’t think so.”  
  
“Vaaaff’s haaarllly faaww—”  
  
Another finger joined the first, and this time they thrust aggressively into his mouth. Gold moaned, trying frantically to get his tongue around the sides to wet them so they’d slide in easier.  
  
“What was that? I couldn’t understand you.” Silver’s other hand smoothed Gold’s bare chest—in a figurative way, that is, because parts of it were becoming decidedly less smooth. He plucked idly at one of them, and almost fell off at the violence of Gold’s reaction. “Such bad manners.” He gripped Gold’s shoulder and added a third finger, pushing into his mouth with even more force. “I would call you a bad boy but I don’t think you understand the concept of right and wrong.”  
  
“Mmh!”  
  
“That’s right. You don’t know anything. You only know how to suck.” His mouth twitched slightly.  
  
“Mmmmh.” Gold’s eyelids drooped, and he applied himself to his task. _Maybe if I’m really good at it Sil will let me—naw, probably not._ After a dreamy minute he remembered what they’d been talking about, and a spark of stubbornness kindled within him. He pulled his mouth off and protested, “ _Red_ doesn’t talk. You don’t call _him_ an—”  
  
“ _Red_ acts like a civilized human being. You don’t see him flat on his back whining and wriggling and su—never mind.”  
  
Gold’s jaw dropped at this mental image, and Silver pinched his nipple, forcing out a yelp.  
  
“What do I have to do to get you to concentrate?”  
  
“I’m always—hnnh—concentrating on something—it’s just—oh Sil why, why are you doing this to me?”  
  
“To help you concentrate,” Silver purred.  
  
“I’m concentrating!”  
  
“That’s good.”  
  
“But—but what should I be concentrating on?”  
  
“Holding still. That seems to be a problem for you.”  
  
Gold let out a sad whimper, forcing his hips to stop moving. “Aww Sil, please—”  
  
“If you can’t behave, how can I take you out in public?”  
  
“I can—”  
  
“You’re not behaving very well now, are you?”  
  
“It’s just—Sil, I’m gonna—you know, soon, and—”  
  
He leaned down and whispered in Gold’s ear. “You’re going to what?”  
  
Gold knew he was blushing furiously. “Don’t—oh please don’t make me say it—”  
  
“If you can’t say it you don’t get to do it.”  
  
“I’m—I’m gonna—I’m—ohhh Sil I can’t think when you do that—”  
  
“Concentrate.”  
  
“I’m gonna come soon,” he burst out. “In my pants. And it’ll make a mess. If—you don’t. You know.”  
  
“If I don’t what? How is this my problem?”  
  
“You’re sitting on me,” Gold pointed out. “Right—there.”  
  
Silver sighed. “I suppose I am. I would hate to let you ruin my pants again.”  
  
Gold moaned, remembering the last time.  
  
“If you don’t learn some self-control soon, I might have to take extreme measures.”  
  
“Like—what?”  
  
“You don’t want to find out. Believe me.” Silver got up on his knees and climbed off to sit by Gold’s side.  
  
“Aww.”  
  
“Well, what did you think I was going to do?”  
  
“I—well, what you just did, I guess. Sil, please—”  
  
“Please what?”  
  
“I—I need—”  
  
“You need what?”  
  
“I need _you_ ,” Gold sobbed. “I _need_ you.”  
  
“But I’m right here.” The voice of sweet reason.  
  
“Please I need you to—touch me—”  
  
“I _am_ touching you.” Silver stroked Gold’s chest.  
  
“You know what I mean!”  
  
“Of course I do. But you need to learn to express yourself more clearly.”  
  
“Please touch me…there?” He glanced down plaintively.  
  
“Tch. Is there something wrong with your hands?”  
  
Gold’s face was so hot you could probably fry an egg on it. “It’s—ohhh—it’s—”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
He closed his eyes and let his face fall to the other side. “It’s better when you do it,” he whispered. “You’re—you’re better. Better than me.”  
  
A rustle. “Well! At least you know it. And you admit it.”  
  
Gold held his breath.  
  
The caressing hands moved down from his chest, slipped over his midriff, stopped at his waistband. He looked back up at Silver, lips parted, forcing himself to breathe again. The cool shaded wedge of his face hung near, his cruel mouth relaxed in concentration as he finally undid Gold’s shorts. “Lift up. Oh! That was enthusiastic.” He pulled them down to mid-thigh level, and ran the nails of one hand lightly back up to Gold’s hip.  
  
“Nnnh!”  
  
“Shhhh.” He placed one hand on Gold’s heaving chest and traced the hollow of his hip with the other. “I’m watching you. Behave. You’re going to stay still, and you’re going to stay quiet.”  
  
“Sil—can I—can I touch you—”  
  
“You can put your hand on my leg. Not too far up.”  
  
“Mmh—thank you—” The rounded thigh felt solid and secure in his palm. When Silver’s cool fingers finally closed around him, he tensed and inhaled, hips lifting fractionally, but didn’t cry out or thrash.  
  
“Good. Breathe.”  
  
Gold closed his eyes and tried to obey. Silver’s hand didn’t move; it was holding him firmly but gently. He wanted to rock up into it, but he was afraid it would disappear. _Breathe._ He gripped Sil’s leg as hard as he dared and dug his heels into the dirt. _Breathe_.  
  
“That’s good.” The other hand traveled slowly up his chest and along his throat to stroke his cheek again. One finger stroked his lips, and this time instead of lunging for it he waited until it probed between them. “You’re being so good.”  
  
A tiny whimper rose up out of Gold’s throat, but stopped. He sucked Silver’s finger into his mouth, rubbing his tongue hard against the underside. Silver inhaled and suddenly his other hand was moving, slowly, gloriously, pulses and swirls of sensation, heat and damp pressure. “I know it’s hard for you to stay still,” Silver’s voice floated down from above. “I know it’s hard to stay quiet. I’m going to let you pick one. Would you rather move, or speak?”  
  
Gold was panting again, his head spinning, Silver’s hand moving, his voice, so high above, _did he say something? Oh he did, what—what I am going to choose, how can I choose, I can’t think—_  
  
“Well?”  
  
His body tightened, _can’t—can’t—no, yes,_ the heat pouring through him, the carnelian glow through his eyelids, his own breath inside his ears, _hold on, hold on, grip hard, take root with your limbs but let your body float,_ Silver’s finger slipping out to run along the side of Gold’s mouth again, Silver’s voice like the shimmer of leaves in the trees as they rub their branches together, languid and luxurious and intimate in the same way Sil’s hand was moving on him, _hold on, hold on oh gods Sil, Sil, I give up, I’m in your hands, I’m yours, hold me, crush me, anything, oh Sil anything you want._  
  
Silver’s hand was moving faster now, and the slapping sound was so crude, it seemed incongruous with Gold’s grand and lovely feelings, with Silver’s beauty and refinement. But Silver could be crude too when he wanted, and maybe he was right, maybe it was fitting, maybe Gold was just an animal, a dirty unruly animal for him to direct and use, and, and discipline in any way he saw fit, _any way at all,_ oh gods—he bucked and howled and convulsed, hips lifting off the grass, and the tiny part of his mind that still worked knew Silver couldn’t be _too_ disgusted by this, because his hand kept holding on and his fingers kept working until Gold collapsed exhausted and limp below him.  
  
Gold opened his eyes almost reluctantly, and his lover’s sharp sculpted features swam into view: determined mouth and long nose, heavy dark brows, fierce grey eyes. He hadn’t answered. He had disobeyed. What was Sil going to think?  
  
But his expression was tender, the dark brows relaxed. “Look at you,” Silver whispered, his voice oddly rough. “So beautiful.” He stooped down and laid his mouth on Gold’s, unhurried and gentle, rubbing his belly with messy fingers.  
  
Gold swallowed and stretched slowly, keeping his eyes on Silver’s. He loosened what he suddenly realized had been his death grip on Silver’s leg, and rubbed it gently, moving as far up as he dared. “Do you want to…”  
  
Silver’s breath hissed inward. “No,” he said finally. “I’m going to wait until tonight, when I get you into a bed.”  
  
_“Oh.”_  
  
“But when I do,” he leaned down and whispered into Gold’s ear, tracing patterns onto his bare chest, “I’m going to fuck you so hard they’ll hear you scream all the way to Ecruteak.”  
  
Gold let out a muffled squeak and hid his face in his hands.

Silver snorted and fished in his pocket for a handkerchief. He wet it using the water bottle lying next to them on the grass, then applied it to Gold’s midriff.  
  
Gold peeked through his fingers. “Will you let me move tonight, too?”  
  
“I’ll let you _try_.”  
  
“Ooh, are you going to tie me up?”  
  
“It looks like I’ll have to, since you don’t seem to be able to keep still.”  
  
Silver’s voice was so smug any sane person would have wanted to punch him, but Gold just smiled behind his hands. What he wasn’t going to tell Silver, because he would probably take it the wrong way, is that _he_ liked winning too. How could he have come this far if he didn’t? But winning can mean anything you want it to. If Silver won his game, that meant Sil was feeling better about himself, and _that_ was a win for Gold.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to specify--in case anyone finds it disturbing and it wasn't clear from the text--that the insults etc are consensual and (mostly) a sex thing, and that Silver wouldn't be using them if he thought they really bothered Gold. 
> 
> I am SO SORRY for the tacky Pokémon reference insertions wait no I'm not. :P


End file.
